


This is the Way the World Ends

by zephrene



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Apocalypse, Crack, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-22
Updated: 2010-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephrene/pseuds/zephrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: An old letter, spanking (there goes your smack) and..."I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving he can outwit nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority" -White</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Way the World Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Er... yeah, so I wrote crack fic.NC-17 crack fic. Bizarre.

Severus woke up uncomfortable and opened his eyes, surprised to see above him not the canopy of a four-poster bed at Hogwarts, nor even the cracked ceiling of his bedroom at Spinner's End, but rather a gorgeously blue sky fringed with whispy clouds. This required some thought. Why was he - he lifted his head, then lowered it immediately when the movement sent pain radiating through his skull - lying in a field, concussed or perhaps hungover, wearing Muggle clothes?

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them the sky had changed. The clouds were thicker, and there was a black spot on the horizon. He blinked, wondering if his vision was going. Had he had that much to drink last night? He remembered little after picking up his take away. If he hadn't drunk himself into this, it must have been bad oysters in his fry up.

He tried moving his arms and found, just within reach, a small red pouch with a set of potions vials inside, and a charred envelope containing several shreds of parchment. Oh. The letter. He did remember that wretched owl. It had stolen one of his chips and nipped his ear, then left him staring at a battered envelope that looked like it had been through the wars. He had opened it and discovered he was not much wrong; the date, smudged but legible at the top of Black Family parchment, read September 10, 1979.

Severus did not actually remember much of the letter now. It had made him quite angry at first, and then rather maudlin, taunting him with memories he could not bear to relive and sensual pleasures he would certainly never again enjoy. The Black family had produced nothing but bastards in the end, offering platitudes or insults but no connection. He did not regret destroying it.

He fished in the pouch of potions and came up with a pain remedy. It was no hangover cure, but it would do. A quick swallow left Severus feeling well enough to sit up. He looked out toward the horizon and noticed the strange anomaly in the sky again - a dark smudge, growing larger, moving strangely.

What could it be? Was it a bird? Was it an aeroplane? Was it Stephen Hawking in a Hawking-radation propelled jet pack? Too large to be a bird. Too much wing-flapping to be a Muggle plane. As for the flying physicist... Severus chalked that up to bad oysters.

Quite suddenly the approaching flying object became clear in his vision. It was a thestral being ridden by a human in some kind of flowing garments. The scene was eerily familiar. He wondered if he'd dreamed it before.

"There you are!" called the rider, as the Thestral circled him and landed nearby.

Severus's jaw dropped, and he scrambled to his feet. He could not face this confrontation sitting down. At least on his feet, he would be taller than Luna Lovegood. Provided, of course, she bothered to dismount.

He need not have worried. She was quick to leap down into the tall grass, her gauzy robes billowing around her, her hair a bright halo of light.

"Severus Snape!" she called as she strode through the grass. As she came closer he could see the tall leather boots she wore under her robe. He tried to keep his eyes down, knowing the danger he courted if he looked any higher than those delicate ankles sheathed in sleek black. He took a step back. "Severus," she repeated, and then she stepped on the remains of his letter. It crackled under the toe of her boot in a way that parchment does, but grass does not.

Luna bent and picked a piece of the torn parchment from the ground, examining it carefully. Severus did not know what was on the fragment she examined, but it was most likely damning, as the entire letter had been.

"Ah, I see," she said. "A reminder of past indiscretions arrives and you flee as if the very world was ending?"

Severus drew himself up and scowled. "Hardly an apocalyptic moment," he began, but he got no farther.

Luna walked right up to him, and he could not help but see her, all of her, the short dress and the boots and the metal cuffs on her wrists. He was fairly certain that Luna actually owned all of those things, but he blamed the studded collar, a Black affectation, on the oysters.

Luna's eyes narrowed as she realized his thoughts were wandering. They were lovely eyes, but Severus did not quite grasp the significance of the expression.

"Turn around, you insufferable man! I have chased you down across four counties, missed my appointment to watch the Violet Grosnerap bloom out of season, and lost my second-best riding crop on the way!"

The loss of Luna's second-best riding crop could be tragic. Severus held his breath, but did not move.

She lifted her right hand free of the gauzy robe, a long, slender implement lying across the palm. It was blood red, trimmed with blue, with barbed tassels on one end and a flat plane of stiffened leather at the other.

"I still have my best," she assured him, then her voice dropped into a lower, commanding register. "I said turn around."

Severus turned.

There was a desk sitting in the middle of the field. It was, in fact, his old desk from his dungeons office at Hogwarts. He wanted to ask Luna how she had accomplished that, then thought better of it. Perhaps questioning the vision would dissolve it.

"Hands on the desk, Severus. Now, tell me." He felt her hands on his clothes - his Muggle clothes, he recalled, much easier to unfasten and lower the trousers without bothering with robes - then the chill of the wind on bare flesh. "Tell me, Severus, why must I punish you?"

"I did not - " His voice cut off with a hiss as she struck him with the crop.

"I've changed my mind. I'll tell you why you are being punished. You listen."

The crop struck again. He could not help the way his body jumped, rocking toward the desk.

"You vanished without telling me where you were going." She struck again, and Severus wondered if she were aiming for a particular pattern with her marks this time. His arse, his thighs, even the curve of his back felt the touch of the crop. "You got so drunk you Apparated to incorrect coordinates." Severus lost count of the strokes when his arousal became almost as painful as the spanking.

The next strike, Luna had turned the crop in her hand, and it was the barbed tassels that left their mark on his cheeks. He groaned, and completely lost any track of the words she said. He bit his lip to prevent himself from pleading - for more, for less, for her to stop, for her to give him more. If this as a dream, she would know what he needed. And if not, well, he would not break for her.

It was the touch of her hands, her cool, soft hands, on the inflamed skin of his arse that broke him, in the end. He gasped, and felt himself on the cusp of orgasm, straining toward release. Then she reached around and took hold of his cock, her fingers a sudden vice, denying him. He sobbed, his arms gave out, and he collapsed across the desk.

He felt her hair across his back as she leaned over him. "You know the rules, Severus. You must ask me."

He shook his head against the desk. Her fingers traced teasing, tormenting patterns over his skin. "Severus," she whispered, in a girlish, sing-song voice. "You're so close, now."

She pulled at him, turning his body until he lay face up on the surface of the desk. "There's so little time left, Severus," she continued, drawing her nails down his chest over his nipples. "Don't you want to come, before the world ends?"

Severus blinked, and found the sky above him had changed again. The clouds had moved, blowing in a great spiral over his field, as if the blue above him were a massive drain, pulling them toward it.

"Please," he whispered. "Luna..."

"I'm not a very good Angel of Death, you know," she said, as she climbed up to straddle his hips, "But perhaps we can manage the Angel of Little Death, hm?"

Severus was torn between the pain of his abraded skin against the wood, and the pleasure of her hands on his cock, her body above his, brushing tantalizingly against him. He strained upward toward her, and finally she relented.

The sky moved. Severus felt himself enter her, and she moved above him once, twice, over and over as he shouted his need toward that darkening sky. The clouds flew fast, faster, toward the center of the spiral.

"What do you think, Severus?" Luna shouted, as she tightened around him. "Is this the way the world ends?"

Then he came.

And the world went dark.

A buzzing noise woke him, and he tugged his hand free of the duvet to slap the alarm bell into silence. He rolled over, and soft hair tickled his nose. His hand encountered soft flesh, which his sleepy brain quickly identified. Scent, texture - he opened his mouth against it - taste. Yes, this was Luna, and this was their bed. The world was, manifestly, still here.

"Bad dream?" she murmured as she snuggled backward. "You were talking in your sleep."

Severus shook his head. "Never again," he muttered.

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

That was the last time he ever ate oysters with his take away.


End file.
